Charlie to the Rescue by Robert Michael Ballantyne (hardest books to read TXT) 📖

disturb it till I come."

"Thankee, sir, I won't."

"Now then, Raywood," said Charlie, descending to the cabin, where his patient was already busy reading Maury's _Physical Geography of the Sea_, "let's have a look at the gum."

"Oh, it's all right," said Raywood. "D'you know, I think one of the uses of severe pain is to make one inexpressibly thankful for the mere absence of it. Of course there is a little sensation of pain left, which might make me growl at other times, but that positively feels comfortable now by contrast!"

"There is profound sagacity in your observations," returned Charlie, as he gave the gum a squeeze that for a moment or two removed the comfort; "there, now, don't suck it, else you'll renew the bleeding. Keep your mouth shut."

With this caution the amateur dentist left the cabin, and proceeded to the fore-part of the vessel. In passing the steward's pantry a youthful voice arrested him.

"Oh, please, sir," said Will Ward, the cabin-boy, advancing with a slate in his hand, "I _can't_ make out the sum you set me yesterday, an' I'm quite sure I've tried and tried as hard as ever I could to understand it."

"Let me see," said his friend, taking the slate and sitting down on a locker. "Have you read over the rule carefully?"

"Yes, sir, I have, a dozen times at least, but it won't come right," answered the boy, with wrinkles enough on his young brow to indicate the very depths of puzzlement.

"Fetch the book, Will, and let's examine it."

The book was brought, and at his teacher's request the boy read:--

"Add the interest to the principal, and then multiply by--"

"Multiply?" said Charlie, interrupting. "Look!"

He pointed to the sum on the slate, and repeated "multiply."

"Oh!" exclaimed the cabin-boy, with a gasp of relief and wide-open eyes, "I've _divided_!"

"That's so, Will, and there's a considerable difference between division and multiplication, as you'll find all through life," remarked the teacher, with a peculiar lift of his eyebrows, as he handed back the slate and went on his way.

More than once in his progress "for'ard" he was arrested by men who wished hint to give advice, or clear up difficulties in reference to subjects which his encouragement or example had induced them to take up, and to these claims on his attention or assistance he accorded such a ready and cheerful response that his pupils felt it to be a positive pleasure to appeal to him, though they each professed to regret giving him "trouble." The boatswain, who was an amiable though gruff man in his way, expressed pretty well the feelings of the ship's company towards our hero when he said: "I tell you, mates, I'd sooner be rubbed up the wrong way, an' kicked down the fore hatch by Mr Brooke, than I'd be smoothed or buttered by anybody else."

At last the fo'c'sl was reached, and there our surgeon found his patient, Dick Darvall, awaiting him. The stout seaman's leg had been severely bruised by a block which had fallen from aloft and struck it during one of the recent gales.

"A good deal better to-day," said Charlie. "Does it pain you much?"

"Not nearly as much as it did yesterday, sir. It's my opinion that I'll be all right in a day or two. Seems to me outrageous to make so much ado about it."

"If we didn't take care of it, my man, it might cost you your limb, and we can't afford to bury such a well-made member before its time! You must give it perfect rest for a day or two. I'll speak to the captain about it."

"I'd rather you didn't, sir," objected the seaman. "I feel able enough to go about, and my mates'll think I'm shirkin' dooty."

"There's not a man a-board as'll think that o' Dick Darvall," growled the boatswain, who had just entered and heard the last remark.

"Right, bo's'n," said Brooke, "you have well expressed the thought that came into my own head."

"Have ye seen Samson yet, sir?" asked the boatswain, with an unusually grave look.

"No; I was just going to inquire about him. No worse, I hope?"

"I think he is, sir. Seems to me that he ain't long for this world. The life's bin too much for him: he never was cut out for a sailor, an' he takes things so much to heart that I do believe worry is doin' more than work to drive him on the rocks."

"I'll go and see him at once," said our hero.

Fred Samson, the sick man referred to, had been put into a swing-cot in a berth amidships to give him as much rest as possible. To all appearance he was slowly dying of consumption. When Brooke entered he was leaning on one elbow, gazing wistfully through the port-hole close to his head. His countenance, on which the stamp of death was evidently imprinted, was unusually refined for one in his station in life.

"I'm glad you have come, Mr Brooke," he said slowly, as his visitor advanced and took his thin hand.

"My poor fellow," said Charlie, in a tone of low but tender sympathy, "I wish with all my heart I could do you any good."

"The sight of your kind face does me good," returned the sailor, with a pause for breath between almost every other word. "I don't want you to doctor me any more. I feel that I'm past that, but I want to give you a message and a packet for my mother. Of course you will be in London when you return to England. Will you find her out and deliver the packet? It contains only the Testament she gave me at parting and a letter."

"My dear fellow--you may depend on me," replied Brooke earnestly. "Where does she live?"

"In Whitechapel. The full address is on the packet. The letter enclosed tells all that I have to say."

"But you spoke of a message," said Brooke, seeing that he paused and shut his eyes.

"Yes, yes," returned the dying man eagerly, "I forgot. Give her my dear love, and say that my last thoughts were of herself and God. She always feared that I was trusting too much in myself--in my own good resolutions and reformation; so I have been--but that's past. Tell her that God in His mercy has snapped that broken reed altogether, and enabled me to rest my soul on Jesus."

As the dying man was much exhausted by his efforts to speak, his visitor refrained from asking more questions. He merely whispered a comforting text of Scripture and left him apparently sinking into a state of repose.

Then, having bandaged the finger of a man who had carelessly cut himself while using his knife aloft, Charlie returned to the cabin to continue an interrupted discussion with the first mate on the subject of astronomy.

From all which it will be seen that our hero's tendencies inclined him to be as much as possible "all things to all men."


CHAPTER SIX.


DISASTER, STARVATION, AND DEATH.

The least observant of mortals must have frequently been impressed with the fact that events and incidents of an apparently trifling description often lead to momentous--sometimes tremendous--results.

Soon after the occurrence of the incidents referred to in the last chapter, a colony of busy workers in the Pacific Ocean were drawing towards the completion of a building on which they had been engaged for a long time. Like some lighthouses this building had its foundations on a rock at the bottom of the sea. Steadily, perseveringly, and with little cessation, the workers had toiled for years. They were small insignificant creatures, each being bent on simply performing the little bit of work which he, she, or it had been created to do probably without knowing or caring what the result might be, and then ending his, her, or its modest labours with life. It was when this marine building had risen to within eight or ten feet of the surface of the sea that the _Walrus_ chanced to draw near to it, but no one on board was aware of the existence of that coral-reef, for up to the period we write of it had failed to attract the attention of chart-makers.

The vessel was bowling along at a moderate rate over a calm sea, for the light breeze overhead that failed to ruffle the water filled her topsails. Had the wind been stormy a line of breakers would have indicated the dangerous reef. As it was there was nothing to tell that the good ship was rushing on her doom till she struck with a violent shock and remained fast.

Of course Captain Stride was equal to the emergency. By the quiet decision with which he went about and gave his orders he calmed the fears of such of his crew as were apt to "lose their heads" in the midst of sudden catastrophe.

"Lower away the boats, lads. We'll get her off right a way," he said, in a quick but quiet tone.

Charlie Brooke, being a strong believer in strict discipline, at once ran to obey the order, accompanied by the most active among the men, while others ran to slack off the sheets and lower the topsails.

In a few minutes nearly all the men were in the boats, with hawsers fixed to the stern of the vessel, doing their uttermost to pull her off.

Charlie had been ordered to remain on deck when the crew took to the boats.

"Come here, Mr Brooke, I want you," said the Captain, leading his young friend to the taffrail. "It's pretty clear to me that the poor old _Walrus_ is done for--"

"I sincerely hope not sir," said Charlie, with anxious looks.

"A short time will settle the question," returned the Captain, with unwonted gravity. "If she don't move in a few minutes, I'll try what heaving out some o' the cargo will do. As supercargo, you know where it's all stowed, so, if you'll pint out to me which is the least valooable, an' at the same time heaviest part of it, I'll send the mate and four men to git it on deck. But to tell you the truth even if we do git her off I don't think she'll float. She's an oldish craft, not fit to have her bottom rasped on coral rocks. But we'll soon see."

Charlie could not help observing that there was something peculiarly sad in the tone of the old man's voice. Whether it was that the poor captain knew the case to be utterly hopeless, or that he was overwhelmed by this calamity coming upon him so soon after the wreck of his last ship, Charlie could not tell, but he had no time to think, for after he had pointed out to the mate the bales that could be most easily spared he was again summoned aft.

"She don't move," said the captain, gloomily. "We must git the boats ready, for if it comes on to blow only a little harder we'll have to take to 'em. So do you and the stooard putt your heads together an' git up as much provisions as you think the boats